


Impersonal & Personal

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-NFA (ignores both comics).  Spike tries to break through Angel’s hardened exterior the only way he knows how.  Sequel: Angel wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impersonal & Personal

Spike paused outside the door and mentally squared his shoulders before putting his key in the lock and letting himself in. Angel’s apathy was slowly wearing him down, and if he didn’t love the bastard as much as he did, he would have left a long time ago. 

It wasn’t like Angel was the only one that loved – _had_ loved – the Slayer. But, the writing had been on the wall the moment Buffy finally realized she was slowly losing the thing that had made her what she was, that with each new slayer being called, she was finally becoming just an ordinary girl. 

Her obligation complete, her body no longer endowed with the slayer’s essence, she’d taken Dawn and disappeared. Away from her watcher. Away from her friends. 

She’d cut her ties and hadn’t looked back. 

He didn’t blame her, far from it, in fact. Buffy deserved her own life… a nice, safe, _normal_ life, free from all the heartache and pain that had defined her existence, especially during the last few years. 

Angel, naturally, hadn’t understood. Claimed they were forever, the two of them. What he failed to realize was that demons couldn’t have forever with a mortal, no matter how much they might want it. 

At least not without damning them first. 

For a minute there, Spike had thought Angel was going to do it too. 

That’s when Angel had seemed to close in on himself, refusing to feed, or do anything really, but sit in his chair in the apartment they shared and stare off into space, his face devoid of expression. Wasting away before Spike’s eyes. 

Desperate, Spike had tried to goad some type of response from Angel. Fighting was what they did best, second only to fucking, and even _that_ had bordered on violent. 

Even now, he still winced at the venom that had spewed forth from his mouth, a bit of it true, the good majority of it not. 

Angel hadn’t even lifted an eyebrow. 

Not until— 

What followed hadn’t been pretty, but it had been good. Damn good. 

“Oi! Angel! I’m home!” Spike snapped as he stepped over the threshold and shut the door. 

Silence greeted Spike, but then he’d expected nothing else. He walked into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. 

“I’ve got blood. ‘nough for a few days, at least,” he called out. 

Still nothing. 

Sighing, Spike pulled a large jug out for himself and put the rest in the refrigerator. He didn’t bother with heating it since it was still warm from the butcher’s, instead drinking the blood down in a few swallows. 

“Right then,” he muttered to himself, tossing the empty container into the sink before he went in search of Angel. 

The living room chair was empty so Spike continued on into the bedroom. Angel was there, in bed. His eyes were open, but he gave no indication that he was aware of Spike’s presence. 

“Guess I’ll start things off,” Spike said as he began pulling off his clothes. “Selfish git. Fat lot of good— You know? Never mind.” 

Normally, he’d take his time. Build up to getting under Angel’s skin. Chip away at his grandsire’s armor piece by piece in the hopes of having it permanently destroyed. 

Honestly, though, tonight he just wasn’t in the mood. Wasn’t willing to lay his heart on the line, only to have it stomped on once Angel got his end away and retreated back inside his shell. 

He brought up the one subject guaranteed to get an immediate response – his past relationship with Buffy. Taunting Angel with the varied ways he’d fucked her, and how, as much as she might have protested at the time, that she loved every dirty little thing he’d done to her. 

Spike didn’t resist as he was thrown face first down on the mattress. Ignored, too, the growled threats and name-calling by Angel as he was slicked up and roughly penetrated. 

Being used for sex was nothing new to him. That it was rough and impersonal made it all the more familiar. 

He sighed and closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was the salty tang of tears that stopped Angel’s mindless rutting, abruptly silenced his tirade. He froze mid-thrust, and reared back, bracing his arms on either side of Spike’s shoulders. The sudden movement forced his pelvis flush with Spike’s ass and his jaw clenched to hold back the moan of pleasure as slick muscles squeezed him tight.

All thoughts of pleasure faded abruptly the second he caught sight of the blood dribbling from his chin down onto Spike’s back, and Angel stared in horror at it and the vicious bite marks to either side of Spike’s neck – marks that he’d obviously made.

He could feel the bile rising up in the back of his throat and he scrambled away to sit back on his heels between Spike’s spread legs, one hand going to his mouth to keep from throwing up. He barely noticed his waning erection, still slick with lube and Spike’s blood.

_I did that to him. I—_

“Spike…?” His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. One hand rose as if in supplication, not that Spike could see with his face buried in the pillow. Other than a slight shudder of what was probably relief, Spike gave no indication that he’d heard Angel’s whispered plea.

And damned if the salty smell didn’t seem to grow in strength now, completely obliterating the smell of blood and sex that had overpowered the room.

Spike was crying… because of him. Because of what he’d done. And seeing the faded bruises covering a good majority of Spike’s naked body, the half-healed cuts, scratches, and bite marks, he’d apparently done it often.

Angel wasn’t sure what had caused his blackout into nothingness, but nevertheless wracked his brain, trying to remember. Like waking from a long sleep, images were slow to crystallize in his mind. When they finally did, he could only stare aghast.

He’d used Spike. Harshly. Repeatedly. Was goaded into it night after night for months on end, if his memory proved accurate, not that it excused his behavior in the slightest.

Spike was a pain in his ass most days, quick to anger Angel enough to want to wring his neck.

But not this. _Never_ this.

Not since Angelus had he been this cruel.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. The words stuck in his throat, unable to push air out of his lungs to give them sound.

Wanting to make amends, but unsure how to go about doing so, Angel stretched out beside Spike. He reached out to draw Spike back into his embrace and vacillated for several minutes before finally resting his hand lightly on Spike’s hip and guiding him to lie with his back against Angel’s front. Somehow Angel managed to get his other arm under Spike’s head so that he could rest against it, rather than on the pillow.

That Spike offered no protest to his manipulation had Angel wondering just how much damage he’d inflicted, and whether or not Spike would ever forgive him.

One thing he knew for sure, he’d never forgive himself.

Neither spoke, and Angel was content to just hold Spike in his arms and nuzzle his face into the back of Spike’s neck, their bodies so close it would be difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

Spike eventually fell asleep, but Angel refused to do so. Besides which, he felt he’d more than slept enough in his previous near catatonic state.

Instead, he basked in the feel of having Spike in his arms, quiet and unresisting. Angel could count on one hand the number of times he’d held Spike like he was doing now. As Angelus, he’d been hard pressed to express any tender emotion he might have had for Spike, lest it be viewed as a sign of weakness on his part.

With the soul, he felt no compunction now.

“I’ll make this right, mo féin.”

Promise made, he bade a silent goodbye to Buffy forever and embraced the one constant in his life: Spike.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Epilogue:

Angel figured on having to grovel, fervently and frequently, when Spike woke after several hours’ sleep. He assumed Spike would stiffen and pull away, then commence with a verbal lashing that was sure to draw blood. Instead, Spike had no more than turned in Angel’s arms and shushed him with a single finger to his lips when he would have spoken. 

“Shhh…” 

“But—” Angel had to explain, or baring that, apologize. To let Spike know that what he’d done, the way he’d behaved, would never happen again. 

“It’s over, Angel. You’re back. That’s all that matters.” 

Then Spike removed his finger and nestled against Angel’s chest, closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.  

As reactions went, it wasn’t what Angel expected. He’d never encountered a subdued Spike, and didn’t know what to do. For the longest time, Angel simply held Spike, comforting him with whispered words of reassurance and tender caresses when he was haunted by nightmares… or memories. 

And so it went for the remainder of the day and half the night. Spike was clearly exhausted, waking only long enough to gift Angel with a weary smile before drinking from the glass of blood held to his lips. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I’m sorry.” Angel spoke the words before Spike could silence him. “I’m… Spike…” 

“Angel—”  

“ _No_! What I did… how could you ever…?” _Forgive me._  

“Demon, pet.” Seeing Angel’s moue of disgust, Spike added, “And, it wasn’t like I didn’t goad you into doing it.” 

“Why? I mean…”

“Couldn’t have you leaving me too,” Spike replied honestly, and there was a wealth of meaning in his words. “When you… I mean… you were there. You know?” 

“Oh, William…” Angel whispered as he hugged Spike close.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

“What are we doing here, Angelus?” Spike complained. 

“Just shut up and come on. And be quiet.” 

Spike rolled his eyes, but followed. When had he not? In the last twenty years, he was never far from Angel’s side – not even when Angel had gone all nostalgic and dragged him back to the place of Spike’s turning.  

In hindsight, though, Spike was glad he’d not complained too much. Especially not after Angel had dragged him into that oh-so-familiar alley and re-enacted the night, but with him playing the lead instead. Good times.  

“Angel,” he whined again, just because.  

“Shhh! Look!” 

Spike was going to object to the shushing, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and the words died in his throat. 

Buffy and Dawn were walking down the sidewalk arm in arm. Two men, clearly their respective husbands, trailed after them.  

“Angel?” Spike was confused. He didn’t know that Angel had been trying to find Buffy. 

“Look at her, Spike.” 

He was looking. It was hard not to. She looked good, beautiful in fact. Time had been kind to the former slayer. Even the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth didn’t detract from her beauty. 

“Tell me what you see.”  

Spike glanced at Angel, and from the look on his face, he’d obviously asked the question more than once.  

“Well?” 

“I don’t know, Angel? What do you want me to say? She looks good. Happy.” 

“In love?” Angel prompted. 

Spike returned his attention to the Slayer. Narrowed his eyes as if that would help him see better.  

“I guess,” he finally allowed. Grudgingly. In truth, though, the Slayer practically glowed with it.  

“Now look at me.” 

Reluctantly, Spike did so.  

“What do you see?” 

Spike’s brow furrowed, his inability to understand what Angel wanted from him making him cranky. “ _Wot_?” 

“I’m looking at you, Spike. Thinking about _you_.” He looked earnestly at Spike. “Tell me what you see.” 

It took a minute, but Spike finally got what Angel was trying to say, however convolutedly. But then, that was Angel for you.  

Big with the grand gestures, not so much with the words.  

“Alright. I get it, you git. You love me. Can we get out of here now?” 


End file.
